Up to Sam
by gracedUSA
Summary: When a mission gone bad leaves both Michael and Fiona stranded in the everglades its up to Sam and Madeline to save the day. Reviews appreciated. I don't own Burn Notice.
1. Chapter 1

To say things hadn't gone as planned would be a gross understatement.

When Michael saw Fiona hit the water panic set in. With the open ricochet wound in her chest he knew exposure to the filthy water in the everglades was even more dangerous than usual. Not to mention the fact that she was likely unconscious and bleeding heavily. Making her perfect prey for one of the infamous alligators of the south Florida swamps. Somewhere in the back of his mind he the knife wound in his leg. But his thoughts were dominated by the need to protect her. To fix it. The only way he knew how.

By going in after her.

The water was worse than he'd anticipated: dark, thick with algae, viscous against his skin. By some miracle he found her quickly. He'd been under for less than half a minute when he felt her skin against his hand and caught hold of her, using what little energy he had left to pull the both of them to the surface. Fiona was unconscious, dead weight in his arms. He dragged her to the shore, gave her mouth-to-mouth until she finally coughed up the water clogging her lungs, winced when he saw it was streaked with blood.

Michael knew they both needed medical attention – fast. He also knew they'd both be arrested the second they stepped into an ER. He had a feeling Sam could work out a way to patch them up. But he couldn't figure out how to contact the ex-SEAL fast enough.

With no cell phones and no hope of finding one in the swamps Michael knew their best bet was to pick a direction and start walking. They'd hit a road eventually. He just wasn't certain if either of them could last that long. But they'd no choice other than to try.

He and Fiona had never been the most affectionate of pairings. Their physical exchanges usually stayed in one extreme or the other – a chaste quick touch on the cheek or a night spent in the privacy of the loft together. Embracing wasn't part of their physical vocabulary. Except when both of them were too hurt and both needed the other for support to keep going. With his arm wound around Fiona's slim shoulders Michael felt oddly vulnerable. Precisely because he knew how tiny she was, how hurt they both were, and how hot the sun was getting. It was closing in on 100 degrees, both their own fevers had passed 100 hours ago. And he still couldn't see any sign of a road. He'd thrown a slapdash dressing on Fiona's bullet wound and she'd done the same for the cut on his leg. But the real pain was starting to set in now, the adrenaline wearing off. They wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer. Not without one of them passing out – and he didn't like to think what would happen then.

It was another half hour before they found the road. It wasn't a road per-se but a driveway. Whoever owned the house at the end might well call the police on them – but it was their only chance at surviving. So they had to take that risk. Michael's fever had hit 103 already and Fiona's was at 101 and climbing. The wound in her chest was making breathing difficult. Michael contemplated the threat of pneumothorax, then pushed it out of his mind, there was nothing he could do for her here. Just like there was nothing she could do about the fragments of blade in his leg. And nothing either of them could do to ease the infections that were rapidly depleting their strength.

At the end of the driveway was a gated house, 10,000 square feet of luxury hidden behind a wrought iron fence and stone pillars. It took all of forty-five seconds for security to arrive, guns out.

"We're unarmed," Michael said quickly as the guards approached, "we fell off our airboat. We're both hurt. A friend of ours can take us to the hospital. We just need a phone."

"Stay here," said one of the men, disappearing into a stucco security building and reemerging with a phone in hand.

"Thank you," Fiona managed to whisper, innately aware of the blood coming through her fingers and the growing pain in her ribs.

"Yes, thank you," Michael repeated.

"You have two minutes," the guard said, "I'll get you some water and you can wait in the shade over there."

With that all three of the men left.

"Sam," Michael said the instant the older man picked up, "Fi and I are hurt, come get us, estate in the everglades…"

And with that he read off the address and hung up – aware that now they only had to make it twenty more minutes. Aware that now they had a shot at making it out of this alive.

Then as they both settled beneath one of the spreading trees on the property, cracking open tepid bottles of water provided by the security team, Michael felt Fiona slump against him, her body going limp as pain and stress finally took over.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sam got to the isolated estate and saw Michael and Fiona passed out under a tree he panicked. Instinct took over the instant his mind registered just how much blood there was, and how the mud all over their skin meant they must have had a run in with the filthy swamp waters.

"You with me?" Sam asked, shaking Michael's shoulder gently as soon as he'd checked for a spinal injury. Michael stirred, opened his eyes, winced at the light. His skin was burning and the blood soaking his right leg didn't look promising.

"I need you to stay with me Mikey, just for a couple minutes. We'll get you two home soon and take care of everything," Sam said, "now what happened?"

"Things went south," Michael managed to reply, "she took a bullet in her chest, I got a knife in the leg. And then they got away, but not before one of them tried to match Fiona hand-to-hand and managed to push her off shore into the water. She was only under for about fifty seconds, but still…"

"Got it," Sam answered, cutting the fabric away from Michael's wound first then Fiona's. Both injuries were swollen and bloody, the fluid covering the bruising and redness speaking to the terrible infection already taking hold.

"The bleeding doesn't look too bad anymore," Sam said, "the infection's worrying me a lot more right now."  
"Right," Michael confirmed.

"Let's get you two home…not much I can do here," Sam told him, "how do you feel about staying at your mom's for a couple days?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, but before he could truly protest Sam had gotten him to his feet and bundled into the back of his mother's sedan. Next thing he knew Michael woke up at the sound of his mom's voice – yelling at Sam – and the pressure of Fiona's unconscious body in his lap.

This wasn't a good day.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam got Michael and Fiona settled in his old bedroom. They were both hard asleep from fever by the time Sam got back to Miami. Fiona was easy to get to the house, but it took both Sam and Maddie to get Michael to his room. When the older pair had the younger safely installed in bed they just stared for a moment – taking in the pallor underneath the external tan, the sweat dewing their skin, the unnatural flush that somehow found its way amid the pallor, the layer of mud and algae that clung to their skin, clothes and hair.

"Alright – Fiona first.." Sam began.

"Nope," Maddie cut in, "you take care of my son…now."

And with that she left, slamming the door in her wake.

With that Sam started systematically stripping Michael's ruined clothes and cleaning the half dozen smaller wounds that marred his body. The knife wound was relatively clean and it hadn't hit bone. He'd have a nasty scar, but it looked like Michael would heal up fine if Sam could get the infection under control.

He hadn't figured out where to get antibiotics yet – but that had to come second to getting wounds clean and stitches in. So he shook his head, focused his thoughts and got to work.

He flushed the wound with alcohol a half dozen times then put in a row of clean, small stitches. He still needed to get the filth off Michael's skin – but Sam doubted whether he could successfully manage that without a second set of hands – and didn't feel inclined to ask Madeline for assistance at this particular moment. Instead he got Michael into a clean shirt and cut off a pair of sweats so there would be easy access to the injury then turned to Fiona.

He pulled up her shirt to look at the bloody bullet wound in her side. It was a ricochet, and it wasn't too deep. The bullet had hit one of her ribs, bounced, hit another then exited. No spinal damage. No organ damage. But the impact had cracked her ribs in five places. Like Michael, she would be fine as long as she got the antibiotics she needed.

Sam cleaned and sutured Fiona's wound then sat back on his heels. He was coated in muck and blood. He needed a shower and a beer. But first he needed to get Michael and Fiona cleaned up and get fresh sheets on the now filthy bed.

So he went to the kitchen and faced Maddie.

"They're hurt real bad Maddie, but they'll be okay," Sam said before she could yell at him.

"What happened Sam?"  
"Don't know exactly. They were just doing surveillance…but…something got out of hand."  
"If they're gonna be fine why are they both unconscious?" Maddie asked, her voice equal parts irate and frightened.

"Maddie their injuries aren't that severe – both will heal up in a couple weeks – but Fi got knocked into the swamp water – Michael saved her – but they've both got a nasty infection," Sam said, "I'm gonna figure out how to get them antibiotics, but first I need you to help me get them cleaned up."

It certainly wasn't the ideal situation to have Michael's limp, sleeping body in Madeline's old pink bathtub while she tried to "help" in every impossibly unhelpful way. But after almost a half hour – for all of which Sam was terrified having left Fiona unattended and delirious with fever – they were done and they managed to get Michael back in bed – this time in the guest room – since Sam quickly discovered the Maddie didn't have any extra sheets.

After that came the really interesting part – trying to get all the grime washed off Fiona amid Maddie's unceasing commentary. She liked Fiona, but she really didn't understand how Michael could fall for someone so skinny. She thought Irish people were supposed to have light skin. Should Sam really be doing this? On it went. Until finally. After far to long Sam carried Fiona back to the guest bedroom.

He found Michael awake, confused and worried.

"Where was she?" he asked, sitting up and taking Fiona into his arms.

"Just getting some of the mud off," Sam said as reassuringly as she could.

"She's unconscious?" Michael asked, checking her pupils.

"Nope, just hard asleep. She woke up a couple times," Sam explained.

"And her fever?"

"From the infection. Both of you are gonna be fine…but first I need to ask you a favor Michael," Sam said.

"Yeah?" Michael asked, his eyes not straying from Fiona's face.

"Who can forge you two a prescription for a strong antibiotic? I'm thinking ceftin if we can get it."

"Her name's Estelle. She considers forgery an art not a crime. And don't use that name. Say you need someone to engineer documents for you. And do it fast," Michael said, laying back down with Fiona pulled close against him.

"You got it brother," Sam replied.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm having tons of fun with this story! Your reviews are wonderful! Keep them coming! It may be a bit before the next installment since homework is liable to take over. Sorry in advance!**

To say Estelle was eccentric was a vast understatement. Her hair was dyed an odd shade of red half that looked oddly like an overripe tomato. She wore plain, non-descript slacks but a flowing top that would have made all but the most overambitious fortune teller feel extravagant. She worked out of a backroom at a tiny framing studio in South Beach. She served wealthy clients. Mostly older women. Mostly looking for extra spending money. And she painted Dutch Masters on the side.

She hated Sam.

It took all of five minutes to get himself kicked out.

It wasn't a promising start.

He returned to find both Michael and Fiona asleep on the bathroom floor. Maddie reported that Fi had started throwing up about an before and Michael had refused to leave her.

True to form.

Sam wasn't sure if now was the best time to deliver the bad news, but when he felt the heat coming off Mike and Fiona's skin he knew that delay could have serious consequences.

"Hey Mikey, Fi, wake up now," he said, shaking Michael's shoulder carefully.

They both roused slowly, Fiona burying her head against Michael's chest.

"Please tell me you have an antibiotic," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding the wound on her side with the other.

"Not yet," Sam replied.

"Then why are you waking me up?" Fiona complained, curling closer to Michael and closing her eyes.

"What happened?" Michael demanded.

"Estelle has decided she hates me," Sam told them.

"Why?" Michael asked.

"Do you really need to ask that question?" Fiona put in.

"All I said was, 'I got your name from a friend of mine. I'm Charles Findlay.' And she kicked me out," Sam answered.

"She doesn't really deal with male clients," Michael conceded.

"That doesn't make your need for antibiotics any less pressing," Sam countered, "we certainly can't send Fi so I don't know…"

"Why not send me?" Maddie interjected, stepping into the already cramped space and filling it instantly with the odor of cigarette smoke.

"Mom you want to go get a fake prescription from an erratic forger?" Michael asked in disbelief.

"If it'll get you two out of my guest bedroom, absolutely," Maddie replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**More will be coming soon! Thanks for the reviews! Love to keep hearing from you!**

Estelle liked Maddie. Rather too much. She gave her the forged ceftin prescriptions, but kept her there for two hours talking about the intricacies of "engineering" faux trust funds and counterfeit checks. By the time Maddie got back both Michael and Fiona had gone from bad to worse. Sam had gotten them back in bed. Which seemed at first like it must mean they'd improved. They were both conscious and talking to one another. Which also seemed like it must mean they'd improved – until Maddie heard their conversation: lots of talk about Belfast, lots of names she didn't recognize. Fiona referring to Michael simply as "McBride" and he in turn wooing her with a flawless Irish accent Madeline had never heard.

"What's wrong?" she asked, handing Sam the forged prescriptions and joining him in the doorway.

"His fever's 104.7, hers is 103.9. They're both delirious. I couldn't find any aspirin," Sam replied, "there seems to be some consensus that they got hurt in a weapons exchange gone wrong. And both have them have decided I'm one of Fi's brothers. I'm not contradicting anything at this point."

Maddie just shook her head.

"I'm gonna go get these meds for them…when I get back we'll make sure they get some fever reducers and figure out how to coax them into taking the antibiotics," Sam told her.

And with that he was gone. And with that Madeline was left staring at her injured son, as he murmured in some hybrid of Gaelic and English about a world she couldn't even conceive.


	6. Chapter 6

**So I'm working on making things mildly more medically accurate! I have zero medical knowledge (like I took intro to bio a couple years ago but...) So bear with me! Reviews appreciated!**

They weren't getting better. Twelve hours in and both Michael and Fiona's fevers were higher. She'd started coughing up blood and the wound on his leg looked worse than it had when Sam had found them in the swamps. Pain had made both of them cogent even through the fevers – and it was Michael who made the suggestion Sam was desperate enough to try.

"Call Campbell – he has to know a real doctor," Michael insisted as Fiona lay curled against his side, eyes half closed, breathing uneven and shallow.

Campbell was surprisingly receptive to the idea of coming to tend two patients on CIA watch lists and working in someone's guest bedroom. He didn't ask questions, he just completed initial exams and scribbled on a notebook in his palm. When he was done he pulled Sam aside.

"She has ruptured capillaries in her right lung," Campbell said quietly, "it's just from the trauma – but unless we get everything else under control – the infection especially – there's no way she's gonna heal. She needs a heavy dose of steroids too. I need to get her on an IV – soon."

"Okay – we should be able to make that happen. Give me a drug name and I should be able to get it. What about Mike?" Sam asked.

"He needs the cut on his leg cleaned again – I think there's shrapnel – otherwise it wouldn't be so swollen. He's reacting well to the ceftin though – he didn't inhale any water so he should be fine as far as that's concerned," Campbell replied, "I'll get you the name of those meds right away. Then you really should get them to the hospital…"

"You know we can't do that and you know why Campbell," Sam interjected, "I was a medic in the Navy…I'm sure the two of us will be able to handle this on our own."  
"Sam you genuinely want me to cut open Michael's leg in his mother's living room?" Campbell put in.

"If it'll save his life…yes."


	7. Chapter 7

**You guys are amazing! Keep the reviews coming! Also - suggestions please - looking for what you guys want to see so I can write it into my next piece.**

The steroids kept Fiona from coughing up any more blood – but they also kept her from sleeping. She lay, unsettled, wide awake and still burning with fever, pulling at the IV port giving her the antibiotics that would save her, her head resting on Michael's burning chest.

Michael, in contrast to Fiona's constant stirring, lay unmoving. The pain had him out. He was sleeping off the antibiotics – she was vomiting them up. And it was up to Sam to make sure everyone had what they needed. Since Madeline refused to return until things were "under control." Sam wasn't sure what qualified as under control – but he knew this wasn't it.

It took a full forty-eight hours for Fiona to stop vomiting and for her to go to sleep for more than three hours at a time. It took that same forty-eight hours for Michael to get through the pain and stay up for more than two hours at a time.

Two days after their impromptu endeavor with Campbell Michael and Fiona were finally resting normally. Twined in each other's arms both reacting to the other's movements, just barely starting to get back to normal.

Sam knew there was nothing more he could do for them. So he just sat in an armchair, trying to read, watching, waiting, praying.

It took three weeks for Michael and Fiona to heal. Three weeks before they were back at the loft – sleeping normal hours – up and walking – their faces no longer registering pain. Sam came in – earlier than he knew he should have – without knocking. And for a moment he just stood in the doorway, watching as they both roused – their now uninjured bodies moving with fluid precision. And he thanked heaven that they'd made it.


End file.
